"Agent, you understand why we are sceptical of your intentions, surely? You have murdered several important Rebels in the last week."

"Don't pretend this is about that," Sabé snapped, glaring at the holograms projected from the edges of the table. She appealed to Bail for support, but he was avoiding her gaze. Instead, she had to deal with toothless Mothma and bloodthirsty Draven on her own. "You agreed with me that my plan was sound before I did it—"

"We agreed that we could not stop you, and that you would approve every Imperial mission you did with us beforehand. That, you did not."

"That was because of your slowness, not mine. I warned you every time."

"Because of your actions, our attempts to spread the Alliance and connect with multiple other cells, including those on Ryloth and Naboo, have been compromised. You have actively weakened our cause."

"I also kept it from ending altogether. If Amidala was able to hold onto Luke indefinitely—"

"Governor Naberrie is her son and has apparently embraced his Imperial position. We will not waste resources on rescuing him, especially if there is no indication that he intends to be rescued."

"I cannot overstate the importance of denying Empress Amidala an heir and giving the Empire that security—"

"Nor can you overstate his—and her—importance to you," Draven concluded. "I empathise with what you specifically have lost to the Empire, agent. But I do not sympathise. We are fighting for a galaxy, not one person."

Her comlink chimed. A ball of nerves, two words away from pacing, Sabé checked it immediately, ignoring Draven's indignation.

"If we are not amusing you—"

The message was from Pooja. All it read was, She has him.

"You're not," she announced. "But don't worry. There won't be a need for the Alliance to commit resources to it. He's already rescued."

Bail actually met Sabé's gaze, hope dawning on his face.

Mothma paused. "By whom?"

"Fulcrum."

Draven exploded. "You ordered a Fulcrum agent on this suicide mission without my consent? I have authority over them—"

"Not all of them, General. She doesn't answer to you. And she agrees with me that Luke is too important to be lost to the Empress's games."

Draven gritted his teeth. "You will both have to explain yourselves for this."

"I'd rather ask forgiveness than permission."

"You will get neither."

"This squabbling is pointless," Bail cut in, finally. "Governor Naberrie is in Fulcrum's custody, and on his way here. We can assess the situation when they arrive, and we can speak to Naberrie himself. I maintain hopeful about this."

"If Amidala and Vader track us through him," Draven warned, "this could be the end of the Alliance."

"Oh, don't catastrophise," Sabé snapped. She was aware of the hypocrisy, but she didn't care. Elation had made her giddy. "This could be the salvation of it."

Leia was summoned to her father's office the moment he finished his call. Her hope was something living in her chest. "Did they agree to help?"

"They didn't have a choice," Bail said, smiling. "Sabé received a message during the meeting. He has been freed and is on his way. When he arrives, they will have to decide what to do with him."

"I should be there," she said. Almost against her will, she started pacing. She shouldn't have come back to Alderaan for this, despite what Ashla had recommended. It might be best that she be seen to have vacated the planet over a week before the attack, for a restful sojourn at home on Alderaan, but it just made her antsy.

"Where? On Coruscant?"

"At the Rebel base. When he gets there. He'll need a friendly face."

Her father grimaced. "You know that's not possible. He'll have Sabé."

"And who knows what he thinks of Sabé right now? He's my brother. I deserve to see him."

Bail hesitated. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "I know I've said it before, but—"

"This isn't about that, Father," she interrupted. "This is about the fact that I need you to take me to the Rebel base."

"You know I can't do that, Leia."

She swallowed. Nodded her head. Collapsed into the chair in front of his desk. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"I know you can't let me go to the Rebel base. You've been saying that since I first figured out you were going to the Rebel base. I know you must have a good reason. I want to know the reason, now." He grimaced. She pressed, "I deserve to know."

"Leia—"

"I gave you connections with the Millaflower Movement. I've gathered like-minded senators in the Senate and stopped them from adhering to the mould Amidala wants them all to conform to. I am a valuable Rebel operative."

"I can't—"

"Is this because I failed?" She knotted her hands in her lap. She refused to cry, even from frustration. "Is this because I've unwittingly helped Amidala with what I did in the Senate? Is it—"

"What?" Bail cut in. "Helped her? How?"

Leia sighed. "She confronted me about it. Laughed when I said I wanted to fight her. Apparently all I've done is make the Empire more palatable to people on the fence. I became the puppet she used to show how much she listened to her army of talking dolls."

"She's wrong, Leia," Bail said gently.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Every bit of work you did was valuable. The fact that she twisted it to her favour as well as her detriment doesn't change that. You challenged her will when no one else would. You reminded everyone in the Senate that she was still mortal. You have done good work. Don't let her distract you."

The words soaked to her core, like a salve to heal a bleeding heart. She shook her head. "So that's not the reason. Is it my reaction when I found out the truth, then?" She'd been sixteen when she learned about her parents' Rebel leanings, and fanatically devoted to the Empress—

"Almost every member of the Rebellion has believed in the Empire at one point," Bail said firmly. "You are the only one still punishing yourself for the mistakes of your youth."

"Then why won't you let me get involved in the Rebellion more directly?"

"Why do you want to?"

"Because it's where you do your best work!" she shouted. "You actually make a difference there. You set such a high standard, and I want to be able to follow that!"

"That's why I don't want you on the base," he insisted. "It's not a matter of their trust." He leaned over the desk to put his hand on hers, stopping her fingers from tapping the wood. She hadn't realised she was doing it. "You didn't want to go into politics, as a child. I forced you onto the same path I took. I won't make you take the same path as me here, as well."

Leia stilled, her fingers going limp. She stared into her father's warm, dark eyes.

"I'm proud of you, Leia," he said. "You've done so much—and I've already pushed you into so much. Look at the connections and the difference you've made on your own. If you were to join the Alliance in a direct capacity, not only would you be limited in what work you could do, but you'd be limited in how you can do it. Do not underestimate the bureaucracy even they operate with. I don't want you to do it my way. I want you to do it your way."

She swallowed.

"You're right," she said. "I've never liked politics. I'm good at it. But I hate arguing with people who refuse to see. I hate passing bills that will have a minimal effect at most. I want to get in on the action."

He chuckled. "You know, I remember chasing you down because you skipped language classes for combat training," he said. "I confess I was worried. We saw too much of your birth father in you."

"Vader?" She hadn't considered that at all. She'd always been so worried about Amidala.

"I was wrong to force you into something against your nature. And I've been trying to make up for it, however poorly."

"Why didn't you say this before?" she asked.

"Would it have mattered?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "We were distant for a long time," he admitted. So, it had been about those cold years where she and her parents had been so divided. "I thought the pressure we put on you was part of the reason you sought her."

"You were scared," she deduced. The same reason Sabé had never told Luke the truth, either.

"Yes."

"This isn't me following you, Father," she said. "With or without you, I choose to meet Luke at the Rebel base. I choose to make real difference. With my words and with my blaster."

He smiled at her.

"I don't know which one he's going to," he admitted. "But I'll find out. It may be a few days, but—"

"I'll wait." She lifted her chin. "I know what I want to do. I want to see my brother, I want to make a difference, and I want to fight."

His eyes were distant. For a moment, the thought rose: who was he seeing, what resemblances jumped out, when he looked at her? But she could dismiss it this time. He was just seeing her.

The security holocams flickered back on thirteen minutes after Ashla left with Luke. Pooja made sure she was where she was meant to be when they did, so that nothing out of the ordinary could be noticed in her behaviour.

She wondered if she should just sit and carry out her chores, let Luke's absence be discovered on its own, but in the process of them she ran into the escort that Luke was supposed to have. They usually gave him some space while he was working, knowing full well that he'd just give them the slip if they didn't respect his privacy, but Ashla would've had to knock them out to get past them.

That was how she found them: fetching a stack of datapads from a locked cupboard in the hallway, only to find that the closet was full of two red guards, tied up and gagged, still bleary eyed. Their helmets were squashed in at their feet.

"What happened!?"

She was a politician. She was good at pretending to be outraged at something when she wasn't.

It was a matter of minutes to get them untied and ungagged. The moment she did, they started spewing information at her.

"The prince—"

"Contact Her Majesty—"

"Contact Senate security—"

"You," she ordered, pointing at the higher-ranked guard, a man with a curly dark beard. "What happened?"

"A Togruta woman approached us from behind. She had two lightsabers—white. She attacked us and knocked us out; when we came to, we were in there, sir," he said promptly. "She must have been after the prince. Contact him."

"I'll comm my… cousin," she promised, and reached for her comlink. Inwardly prayed that Ashla had disabled it—she had. There was no response from Luke.

"Contact every security retinue relevant," she ordered them. Their wide-eyed expressions of panic sent a pang through her—she didn't know whether that was loyalty to Padmé or to Luke, and she didn't know if it mattered. "I will contact Her Majesty."

"A Jedi," Padmé said, shaking with rage. She hadn't taken her eyes off the scorch mark on the carpet of her greeting room since Pooja and the guards had first pointed it out to her. "A Jedi took him?"

"It was a Togruta woman with two lightsabers, Your Majesty," the captain Pooja had spoken to—Captain Vassic—added. "I presume she was a Jedi."

Padmé hissed out a breath. "She was not," she said. "That was Ahsoka Tano. My husband's former pupil."

Pooja hadn't known that. "Former?"

Padmé didn't look at her. "Evidently."

In the silence that followed, no one spoke. Pooja suspected that had her aunt been Force-sensitive, she would have shattered every piece of furniture in the room, as her husband was wont to do. Instead, she staggered back and collapsed onto one of the sofas, sending several cushions sprawling when she reached out. A hand passed in front of her face.

"I will still make the announcement," she decided. "That will have to be arranged—tomorrow, perhaps, if I want as many people watching as possible. Until then, I want every soldier in the Empire to search for him. When he is declared Imperial prince in absentia, there will be nowhere he can hide. He cannot run away from me."

Pooja sat down next to her, feeling like one stray breeze would shake her until her bones fell out. "Run away? Luke—"

Every syllable was bitten out, her teeth gnashing. "There is no way Luke has not met Ahsoka before. I know that he met Obi-Wan Kenobi—another former associate of my husband's, you may recall. If Sabé worked in intelligence in the Rebellion, it is likely she ran into Ahsoka as well. If Luke knows Ahsoka, then it is obvious what happened. She convinced him to leave us, and he went."

"Luke is your son," Pooja protested, her stomach turning. Padmé's vitriol disturbed her. "He wouldn't have—"

"People who have known and loved me for longer than Luke have done far worse!" She shook her head. "He cannot abandon me. He will return, whether by choice or by force. I trusted him, I gave him this freedom back, and—"

Perhaps you should not have restricted it in the first place. "I don't think Luke left you, my lady."

Padmé waved a violent hand around the room. "Then where is he?"

"That sofa is upturned," Pooja pointed out, gesturing to the cushions strewn over the carpet. "There is a scorch mark from a lightsaber on the floor. Luke didn't leave by choice. He was kidnapped."

Padmé's flexing hands grabbed Pooja's suddenly. Pooja didn't want to look into her eyes, but she did. She didn't have much choice.

"What did you say?"

"That Luke did not leave," she repeated, stumbling over the syllables with a tongue accustomed to deception, but unaccustomed to deceiving Aunt Padmé. "He was taken."

Padmé squeezed her hand tightly. Laced their fingers together. Closed her eyes.

"You are right," she said, and half the tension evaporated from her shoulders at the knowledge. "Luke— Luke is a sweet boy. Luke would not do this. Not to his family." She leaned forwards, letting go of Pooja's hands to cover her face.

With horror, Pooja realised she was crying.

"I love Luke," Padmé choked out. "How could I think that of him? How could I think that of my son?"

"You're worried," Pooja said. "You're stressed. It's understandable."

"It's not. I won't stand for it again." She straightened up. Her tears still gleamed on her cheeks, but she spoke as clearly as ever. "Luke would never betray me. I know him too well; he is too loyal. There are people I can trust utterly. Luke. Anakin. You." She nodded at Pooja; the gratitude in her face made her sick.

"We will find him," Pooja offered.

"We will. This is too important." She stood up, turning to her guards. "Do as I said. Pass on my orders. I want every squadron in every system on high alert for him. I want the depths of Coruscant scoured. And I want—" She faltered, then pursed her lips. "I promised Luke I would lift the occupation of Naboo, but I did not promise I would lift it immediately. Use every executive power the Empire has there to find out if they have stolen my son. Again."

The guards were utterly unfazed by the passion in her voice. They saluted. "At once, Your Majesty."

Padmé whirled on Pooja. There was a manic look in her eyes that she'd never seen before. Her motions were sharp, stiff; she shook her head as if to dispel voices.

"Do not rest until he is found," she ordered, and Pooja had the feeling she wouldn't, either.

Her day was a flurry of orders. Keeping herself in one piece was already a struggle. There was a harpy in her heart that had started screeching when she first saw the scorch mark in her carpet, and its song only grew louder with every moment Luke was not by her side.

Ahsoka had taken him. Why? Padmé hadn't even known she was a player in this game.

Wanted posters shot around the galaxy immediately—of Luke, of Ahsoka, of every other living Jedi she could think of. (The list was short.) She considered sending in one of Sabé as well, as the only person she knew who had a personal stake in removing Luke from her company, but Sabé was hers. Sabé was nowhere near Coruscant, on a ship hurtling towards the Outer Rim. There had been no break in her reports; she had never disobeyed Padmé's orders.

The harpy shrieked to accuse her, to execute her, evidence or not. She had kidnapped him once; she must have kidnapped him again. But Padmé, in truth, couldn't bear it.

And she might still need Sabé, after all.

Her compromise was a short message. Three lines long:

Luke has been taken. Find him. If you fail, your life is forfeit.

Everything else in there went unsaid. And Padmé didn't have the emotional fortitude to confront Sabé in a holocall right now. She barely had enough to confront Vader.

But she would have to. He deserved to know. And he deserved to hear it from her.

He answered promptly—good. She had pumped the call briefing with enough urgency, then. "What is it? Are you well?"

She stared at him. Now that she was here, her lips and tongue, her primary weapons, refused to obey her.

"Padmé?" he pressed, panic rising in his voice. "What is wrong? Do you need—"

"Luke has been kidnapped." The words burst out, explosive.

Vader froze. She had been expecting that. She counted to ten, then—crashing. Banging. The shriek and tear of metal.

"Do not destroy your holosuite before our conversation is finished," she snapped. "Our son is missing. I need to talk to you about this."

He reined himself in instantly at her word. "Who has taken him? What is to be done?"

"Security did a full analysis. We didn't see anything, the holocams were down, but I have sent you the report. And my guards say that the kidnapper who knocked them out was a Togrutan woman with two lightsabers." She shook her head. "You told me you'd killed Ahsoka."

"I did," he insisted. "She vanished in front of me on Malachor. Just as Yoda vanished upon his death."

"Then explain to me how she kidnapped our son!" She clutched the edge of the desk in her holosuite. "Are all of those Jedi alive? Was this entire technique just a way of escaping? Did you fail to kill Yoda as well? Is Obi-Wan still alive?"

Vader stiffened. "Kenobi is still alive," he confirmed. "I have not killed him yet."

Her mouth dropped open.

She could still salvage this, she thought. She could lie to him; he would believe her. But she was too unhinged to bother with any of that.

"He's dead," she said. "I've been tracking him for the past year, to make sure that he stayed out of the Rebellion. He was staying on Alderaan, training the Princess as a Jedi. When Sabé re-entered my service, she killed him to prove her loyalty."

She couldn't see behind her husband's mask, but she was fairly sure he was gaping at her. "You knew where he was and you didn't—"

"You are obsessive!" she accused. "If you killed him, it would have made you miserable, no longer having a purpose. And then you were focused on Luke, and I needed eyes on him anyway, to make sure he didn't do anything to injure the Empire. Of course I disposed of him without you. You were utterly unreasonable about him."

"He was my kill to make. Not your handmaiden's."

"I don't care about that right now," she said. "I care that my son is gone, and potentially in the hands of more Jedi than we knew were still alive!"

"Did you ever care about that?"

She ignored him. "We need to find him," she said. "I have the entire army sweeping the galaxy for him—you should receive the orders momentarily—but I need you to abandon the front for it as well. He must be found."

"He must be with Ahsoka and Kenobi," Vader said. "I will track them down."

She glared at him. "Because you're obsessed with them or because you care about our son?"

"I care about our son." His tone was tight. "Just as I cared about him when I wanted to hunt down Kenobi and eliminate that threat to him, but you forbade me from doing so. If I had, perhaps this would not have happened."

"Kenobi was—is—dead."

"And you did not tell me that!"

"I'd have assumed you would feel it, if you cared that much about each other. I must have overestimated the Force."

"Do not slander the Force, Padmé."

He never took that tone with her. It was that which drew her up straight.

"That was uncalled for," she admitted. She had to. He was enraged enough that if she didn't back down, he would become unpredictable. "But my point remains. Focus on our son, not your vengeance quests."

"I am not the one who refused to entertain the possibility he was our son in the first place. Do not accuse me of not caring for him. I will find him."

"I know."

"The Force will be my ally. We are still bound."

"I know." She dragged in a shuddering breath. "Where do you intend to start?"

"You said he was sheltered on Alderaan, training the Princess," he said. "Whether Sabé successfully killed him or not, the Princess is a friend of Luke's. And now an enemy. She may have kidnapped him."

"She wasn't on the planet."

"That is greatly convenient for her."

Padmé nodded. "Go to Alderaan first, then." She shook her head with a snarl. "I'm tired of letting them get away with their blatant Rebel sympathies. They have gone too far. If they do not cooperate, burn their city to the ground."

Vader promised with a dark vengeance, "As you wish, my love."

It was dark when Luke came to, but not uncomfortable. He peeled his eyes open and waited for them to adjust. When they did, he saw a plain, unadorned cabin of a ship. He was on the lower bunk.

His mouth tasted like sand infused with motor oil. How long had he been unconscious? He must have been drugged.

Ashla.

The fight.

Someone with dark hair stunning him.

He sat up immediately. Where was he? Where were they flying? He didn't mind going to the Rebellion, but he needed them to understand that he needed to return. His mother would be shattered by his disappearance. His father might go on another rampage.

His spike of panic clearly alerted Ashla to the fact he was awake. He sensed her approach swiftly, the door hissing open to admit her. She didn't crowd him; just sat down in the doorway, blocking the exit but giving him space to panic.

"You're awake," she observed. "How do you feel?"

"Like you drugged and kidnapped me."

"I am sorry."

"Not sorry enough to do anything about it."

"Don't think I don't understand, Luke. Padmé used to teach me holochess, you know? Anakin taught me so much more. But they've changed. They've been twisted by Palpatine."

"No one changes totally," Luke said. "I convinced Mother to lift the occupation of Naboo. She wants to do good, and she loves me."

"Is that where this came from?" She shook her head. "Sabé told me you were an optimist, but I didn't expect Padmé's manipulation to manifest like this. She has ruled an Empire for fifteen years. She has been a corrupt autocrat, allowing and condoning unspeakable crimes in her own name and her husband's."

"Yes," Luke said. "But a week ago, she gave me a meal from home and agreed to my request, just to make me happy. My logic was weak; we both knew it. She could easily have denied it. But she didn't. She didn't, because my father was away, and she was lonely. I need to go back."

"You think a woman's loneliness will change the galaxy?"

"I think, from what I've heard, that her loneliness is what changed her into this in the first place."

"And you think it can change her back." Ashla sounded incredibly sceptical.

He swallowed. "She claims to believe in her ideals unquestionably," he said. "The fact that they've changed so much over her career shows that is not true. I don't think she's as dedicated to her dictatorship as she believes."

"You've spent two months in her custody," Ashla said, "getting her undivided attention the whole time. You understand why I can't trust your opinion right now?"

"I do. I will explain it to the Rebellion, then, assuming that's where you're taking me." He wrapped his sentence in the Force, protecting his actual thoughts. Duelling may not be a Jedi skill he was accomplished at. But his parents had made sure his shielding was excellent.

She smiled at his attitude. "Alright," she said. "We'll have to drop out of hyperspace soon to adjust course and pick up another passenger, and then we'll be there in a day or so. If you're still convinced by then, you can talk to them about it. But I don't think it will help." He nodded. "And I don't want to keep you locked up the whole journey, but I will if you act up."

"I won't," he said, once again infusing his words with the Force. Ashla was clearly a highly competent Force user, but the deception seemed to work.

"I'll bring you some water," she said. "I used some harmless drugs to keep you asleep until I got off planet, but it can't taste nice."

"It doesn't."

"I'll be right back."

Luke waited patiently. When she brought him the water, he thanked her, and used it to wash away the taste. Then he went back to his bunk and pretended to sleep, while she went back to the cockpit. There, he waited.

The Force pounded at the back of his head like the drums in a military parade. As they grew closer to the crescendo, they sped up, and sped up, and sped up…

When they crashed like a gong, he trusted his instincts, and he knew it was time. He flung himself out of the bunk and out of the room—just before the ship dropped out of hyperspace.

She sensed it immediately, but he was already moving. He recognised the class of ship; he knew where the escape pod would be. It was the opposite side of the ship from him, but he was smaller and faster than Ashla. Up the ladder. Through the side door. There it was, a tiny, cramped space; he didn't hesitate to shove himself into it. The door slammed shut behind him.

Ashla careened around the corner to crash into the closed door, but it was too late. Luke locked it.

"Luke!" she shouted, her voice muffled. "You need to come with me!"

"I need to go home," he said, and before she could flex her hand and unlock the airlock with the Force, he pulled the lever.

Too early.

The ship dropped into realspace milliseconds after he launched, but slivers of time were everything in space travel. The escape pod rocketed through hyperspace, the flashing, spinning lights around him so violent that when he bashed his head on the floor of the pod, he threw up. The vomit floated in mid-air for a moment, a bile-yellow cloud, before he was tossed right through it with a thump.

He grabbed the handrails on the side as he flipped and spun and tumbled, more vomit joining the cloud decorating his shirt. His head thundered. The flashing lights and fathomless darkness gave way to a massive yellow ball bouncing around between the viewports, swelling like a balloon until it swallowed them. A planet? A moon? A world.

When he hit atmosphere, the shields flared blue. The escape pod spun around to show him the world's star: a binary system. Two stars, orbiting each other, blindingly bright from space as well as from the ground.

Luke barely had the time to wonder about the impossible coincidences of his life before his escape pod hit the ground. Sand sprayed up around them, choking the view out of the viewports, casting him in shadow.

The pod creaked, tilted, then fell over with a whumph.

Luke clung to the handrail, still, but no more motion came. Eventually his arms were shaking so much he had to let go, and he did, letting Tatooine's gravity drag him to the filthy floor of the escape pod. The door was on his left, a few inches from his fingers. It was already sweltering in here.

He should move. He was probably injured and just too shocked to realise. Even if he wasn't, he had no idea where he was. Anyone could come by, and use the rich, influential politician as a useful mark. Tatooine was still a war zone. It was a miracle he hadn't been blasted out of the sky on his way down.

He didn't move. Instead, he lay there on the floor of the escape pod, squinting against the glaring suns, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

At long last, through the most far-fetched of ways, he had come home.

Aaaaand that's the end of Act IV! I'm gonna take next Saturday off from posting, as usual, and then in two weeks I'll be back with the fifth - and final - act. In the meantime, have a great fortnight and stay safe!